Pillow Talk: The Memory Theory
by pitoathousandplaces
Summary: Amy takes care of a drunk Sheldon on Christmas Eve, and comforts him. [SHAMY]


_I was originally going to post this on Christmas. But I wont be around (probably), so I'm posting this a bit early. Think of it as an early present._

 _Thank you for choosing to read this. Also, this is a bit of a tear-jerker. You have been warned._

* * *

"You know what I really love about you? You are so tiny!"

Sheldon's tall frame bear-hugged Amy Farrah Fowler not so elegantly, successfully pinning her small body on to the mattress even further. His tight hold nearly knocked the wind out of her lungs. Her face was pressed up against his pajama clad chest; she could not see anything except the white glow of his shirt nor smell anything except the comforting aroma of his talc.

And while the baby powder smell did her olfactory senses well, her need for oxygen prevailed and Amy tried hard to push Sheldon off of her body. Sensing her discomfort, Sheldon loosened his grip and fell on to his side of the bed with a silly smile on his face.

Again, he wrapped his arms around her and brought her body closer to him, "You are so tiny, Amy. And cute. Amy, you need to acknowledge the irrefutable fact that you're cute."

She only sighed as the man beside her started to nuzzle his nose against her jaw. "I'm cute. Now would you please go to sleep?"

Sheldon paused his nuzzling to stare at her eyes with a serious expression, "I can't, Amy! If I go to sleep, who will have coitus with my cute little lump of wool?"

"We're not having coitus tonight. You're not in state to do that. Just go to sleep. Or do you need a warm glass of milk? I can bring you one. Let me just-"

Amy tried to untangle her body from her boyfriend only to have herself pinned to the bed once again. How many times has she tried to get away tonight? Three? Four? Damn his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

"But Amyyyyyy. I need you. Not milk. I'm not a child!" He cried out, a bit too loudly.

His statement would have been a lot easier to believe if he wasn't wearing a Mr. Spock pajama and smelled like a toddler dipped in a bucket of talc. Sheldon once again snuggled his face in the crook of her neck and slung his long legs over her waist.

Why was Dr. Sheldon Cooper acting particularly affectionate tonight, you may ask? Ah, yes. He was drunk. Very, very drunk.

Amy hosted a Christmas Eve dinner party for the gang, which with the exception of Sheldon getting drunk as a skunk for no apparent reason, worked out pretty well and smooth. After everyone had called it a night, she had to take a very drunk (and amorous) Sheldon to the bathroom to give him a much a needed bath before applying adequate amount of talc and dressing him in his Sunday pajamas. Amy took a shower and wore her nightgown before joining Sheldon on their bed, which is where Sheldon decided that it was the perfect time to announce just how tiny she was.

Amy sighed again as Sheldon started giggling out of the blue, probably at something on his mind. And yes, he _giggled._ Like a pre-teen who looked up the word "sex" in a dictionary. He took a couple of strands of her hair and twirled it around his fingers, studying the locks with great intensity as if completely mesmerized by the texture. Amy had had enough of his tomfoolery and decided that she was going to drift off to sleep, whether he did the same or not. Being attentive to a drunk Sheldon was twice as exhausting when he was sober, and she needed all the energy she could gather for the following day of Christmas.

She stayed still waiting for sleep to come over, being very aware that Sheldon had gone excruciatingly quiet as he played with her hair. Without a warning he closed his mouth on her locks and sucked at her hair. Alarmed, Amy quickly ripped her hair off his mouth and moved it away from his reach.

"What do you think you're doing? It's disgusting, Sheldon."

Sheldon became very upset as if being deprived of his toy. He whispered, "I wanted to see what it tastes like."

Amy knew that his alcohol intoxication was the reason he was having mood swings, and not because he was actually feeling sad. "Why would you want to taste my hair?"

Sheldon avoided eye contact and played with the flannel neckline of her pajama as he spoke, "Because I've seen it, heard it, touched it, and smelled it."

"And you decided it'd be a great idea to collect data from all of your senses? Data of my hair?"

Her question was met with dead silence as he still avoided looking her in eye. After a minute of suspended silence, he laid his head on her soft chest and whispered, "what if you're not here and I don't know what your hair tastes like?"

It suddenly registered in to Amy's brain that Sheldon's routine of getting drunk every Christmas Eve might have a deeper reason after all. She could always feel that he was struggling with something, but couldn't figure out what it was. He didn't exactly excel at communicating, and often chose unorthodox mediums to display his emotions, such bongos, deliberate cutting off of power supplies, and ridiculous clauses in the Relationship Agreement.

Amy wrapped an arm around his neck and used her other hand to stroke his hair gently. She rested her cheek against the top of his head as he snaked his arm across her waist, enjoying the soft and warm feeling of her breasts against his ear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sheldon." She said softly, running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe away any troubles he was struggling with internally. It always hurt her to see him in pain.

A couple of minutes passed as Sheldon lay in her arms with a dreadful silence between them. Amy could _feel_ him thinking about something, as if debating whether to talk or not. He fumbled with the fabric of her neckline once again.

"Amy?"

"Mhm?"

"Do you like my eidetic memory?" Sheldon paused to raise his eyes and look at her. Amy stared back at him, puzzled by the strange question.

"Yes, of course."

"I don't." Sheldon went back to playing with the fabric and avoiding her gaze.

"Why not?"

"I can't forget."

Amy only frowned. "Forget what?"

"Pop-pop."

The pieces of the puzzle finally assembled together for Amy. Christmas was always a hard time for him, and she mentally slapped herself for not being attentive enough.

"He died when I was five. Most kids don't remember much at that age. But I do. I remember how he looked when we put him in the coffin. He looked so pale, Amy. I remember the smell of the flowers I put in his coffin. I remember every word of the eulogy my Meemaw gave in his memory. I remember how bony his arms felt the last time he hugged me. I remember _all_ of it, like it's happening to me right now. I asked Santa to bring him back, _but he never did_." Sheldon's voice cracked at the last sentence, and Amy could only bring his head closer to her chest as she felt her heart break.

"Oh, baby, come here…"

Sheldon sniffed and snuggled even tighter in her embrace.

"The ability to forget is a gift, Amy. Tell me. What's it like to forget?"

Amy didn't answer him. She couldn't. There was no explanation that could soothe his inner turmoil. She only kissed his forehead held him closer as she rubbed his arm that lay on top of her waist in hope of taking away his pain.

At least a little bit of it.

 _The End._

* * *

 _This story is very personal to me. Because I'm on the Spectrum, and sensory input (sight, smell, auditory, tactile, taste) is how I form memories and images in my head and process my thoughts and ideas. I can relate to Sheldon tremendously, especially the sensory issues._

 _Thank you for reading. Have nice holiday._


End file.
